Capitol Carnage
by InAthena'sCabin
Summary: The District children played. They fought. They won. They voted. And now it's up to the Capitol children to fight for their lives in the first and last Capitol Carnage! May the odds be ever in their favour. Post-Mockingjay, during Epilogue.
1. Book 1: Capitol, Chapter 1

**Dearest reader,  
****I believe I speak for all of us when I say that the Hunger Games is an amazing series. But me, myself, and I want to know what happened in the 76th and last ever Hunger Games. In order for You to find out as well, I decided to bring my ideas forth. I sincerely hope You enjoy reading what I offer You. My sad mission, however, is to inform that the concepts related to the original Hunger Games -series are possessed by Suzanne Collins, may God bless her sweet soul. In any case, my story starts here.**

* * *

It is a Monday afternoon when they call from the Capitol. It is not Dr. Aurelius, but Plutarch, the new secretary of communications. He is in charge of televised events of Panem, and I wonder what he could possibly call me for. My question is not left unanswered for long. During the first month of my lonely new life in District 12, I have already forgotten about the horrible decision we had to make after the war. It is time to arrange the last ever Hunger Games.

"We will send a hovercraft to pick you and Peeta up from 12," says Plutarch after a brief introduction of topic. "Do you reckon Haymitch would want to get a first-hand look at the Games as well?"

I wonder about that for a moment. He has been quite engaged in drinking as usual, but he did vote for arranging the Games, so I say yes.

"That's great," says Plutarch. "The hovercraft will be there tomorrow at 8 am. Try to keep Haymitch somewhat in his senses so that he could possibly say something at the Reaping. And you and Peeta should be ready to speak as well."

The phone call ends and I sink into the chair closest to me. I am not prepared to speak at the Reaping. What could I say to the people whose children would be killed because I said so? Yes, it would be for Prim, but still, the thought was terrible. Before I sink into my sorrow over everything that has happened to me, I jump up on my feet and get out of the house. Buttercup, my sister's old stupid cat sneaks out as well. I decide to go tell Peeta about the Games so he would know to prepare himself. Maybe he would help me talk to Haymitch about it as well.

I find Peeta in his kitchen, baking as usual.

"Katniss," he greets me with a smile, and takes a few steps towards me. I was happy to see how much he had recovered from the horrors he had gone through in the Capitol. However, I sometimes noticed the remains of the Tracker Jacker venom doing tricks to his mind. It happened mostly when we were alone together. He still had to battle the hijacking.

"Hi, Peeta," I answer him, hesitantly. Once I see he is fine, I cross the room to him.

"How are things?" he asks.

"Oh, the usual," I tell him, unsure of how to bring up the subject. I know Peeta had not been exactly keen on having them arrange the last Hunger Games.

"Katniss, I know you well enough to see when there is something you need to talk about," says Peeta. Sometimes his ability to read me irritates me. In fact, it does most of the time. But now, it is a gift.

"Yes, I admit, there is something i need to tell you," I say. "I just got off the phone with Plutarch. He wants us in the Capitol tomorrow, and asked to bring Haymitch, too."

Peeta's face falls. I know now that he knows why Plutarch asked us to return to the Capitol.

"May I be honest with you?" he asks slowly, looking at me like he is afraid I would spontaneously combust at any sudden movement.

"Yes."

"I understand that you voted 'yes' for Prim when the meeting was held to determine the last Games, but I fail to understand what it will accomplish. After all, the reasons why we rebelled were the Games and the fact that the Capitol blatantly oppressed us. I cannot see how we are any different than they were," Peeta says, keeping his tone considerate.

"You know, you are allowed to raise your voice if you're angry at something," I say, annoyed by the fact that he treats me like a child.

"Fine," he snaps and goes back to kneading dough.

"Look, a hovercraft will come to pick us up tomorrow, and we need to make sure Haymitch is presentable," I say, but Peeta does not answer.

"Fine," I mutter under my breath and storm out of his house.

I decide to go to see Haymitch on my own. As I approach his house, I hear the noise coming from his back yard. I take off running and as I reach his house I see that the turkeys he occasionally raises have gone wild. Apparently they have escaped their cage. Chasing after them is a very drunk Haymitch.

"Hullo there, sweetheart!" he slurrs and trips on his own feet, landing face first on the still snowy ground.

"Could you use some help?" I ask, trying not to roll my eyes at the drunk man. After all, he is only trying to escape, just like me and Peeta.

"No no, I've got things under control," Haymitch says as he stumbles back on his feet.

I don't take no for an answer and one by one I chase the turkeys back into their cage. Haymitch is not helpful in the least.

"See?" he says after I close the cage door. "I had things under control _all_ along."

"Of course you did," I say and tow him inside.

One would think I would have already gotten used to the putrid stench of Haymitch's household, but as I open his back door, I have to fight the reflex to gag.

"Don't you ever clean your house?" I complain as I sit Haymitch down on his sofa.

"What's wrong with my house?" he asks defensively, his eyes drooping.

I tell him to lie down and hand him a cup of coffee.

"You'd better sober up soon. We're going to the Capitol tomorrow," I say. "The last Reaping takes place tomorrow."

"Why do they need me there, eh, Mockingjay?" Haymitch asks while sipping coffee.

"Because you voted for arranging the last Hunger Games, remember?" I answer, starting to get frustrated. Peeta was so much better at handling him than I was.

"Oh whatever," says Haymitch and leans back on the sofa, spilling coffee on himself as his chin droops against his chest and he begins to snore.

I make my way across the filthy living room into a surprisingly tidy bedroom. Apparently Haymitch's sleeping habits do not involve a proper bed. As an afterthought I wonder whether he could sleep at all without alcohol. I open a large wooden cabinet and pull out a suitcase and start to fill it with clothes. I have a feeling that Peeta and I might have a wardrobe waiting for us in the Capitol, but things might be different for Haymitch, so I make sure he has got everything he needs for the trip to watch the last Hunger Games.

Halfway through the packing, I hear someone walk behind me. I turn around sharply and see Peeta, who is carrying a basket full of freshly baked cheese buns. My favourite.

"Truce?" he calls from the doorway, lifting the basket up in his hands.

I drop the tie I am holding in my hand and walk to him. The smell of the bread is divine, and I have to resist the urge to grab one instantly.

"Truce," I agree. "I'm sorry for telling you off."

Peeta shrugs. "Don't worry about it. I'm sorry for not understanding you. It's not really my place to judge your decisions. Not after what you have been through."

He sets the basket on a side table to hold his arms out for me to walk into. I take the hint and lean my cheek against his chest as he embraces me. He smells like bread.

"Don't be sorry for me," I say. "I can handle it. You have been through tough things lately as well. We're in the same position."

"Let's call it a tie then," Peeta says. I can tell from his tone that he is smiling.

I feel more relaxed than in ages as I stand there with Peeta's comforting arms around me. There was a time when a part of me would have wanted another pair of arms there, but that part is long gone. Gale is in District 2 now, and he has a life of his own. I am still conflicted, though, about what I want. So even though Peeta got better and in fact, told me his feelings for me had started to resurface, I had turned him down. I had to be sure. However, I want to keep the feeling of completion now that I finally feel it again, so I wrap my own arms around Peeta as well, closing my eyes as I do.

"Do you need help with packing Haymitch's things?" he asks after a moment.

"No, I think he's set for tomorrow. We just need to keep an eye on him, or at least make sure he's decent for tomorrow," I say and pull back from the embrace. "By the way, Plutarch wants us to speak at the Reaping."

Peeta closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He takes a deep breath, muttering something quietly under his breath. I take a few steps away. This is the way Peeta fights off the flashbacks from being hijacked. I know I'm not in immediate danger, but we agreed upon the precaution of me backing away when this would happen.

"My favourite colour is a certain orange. Real or not real?" Peeta asks after a while. This is his way of making sure the hijack seizure is over.

"Real. It's the orange of the sunset," I tell him and he takes a shaky breath.

"Why me?" he whispers. "What can I say to them?"

I can see he is talking about the people at the Reaping. I remember Effie and how irritating her speaches at the Reapings were. I did not want to give a speech like that.

"Maybe we should think about that while looking after Haymitch," I suggest. "I don't know what to say to them either."

That lightens him up a little. I am glad to see him happy. We had been in too many sad events together. We sit down on Haymitch's untouched bed. We don't dare to go sit in the living room. The stench is unbearable. As the evening grows darker, Peeta and I think about what we will say at the Reaping, and how we will present ourselves. This will be the last time anyone has to put up an image for the Games. No more silly costumes or remakes. No more fishing for sponsors. It will all end after this.

"Do you remember the first Games we were in?" Peeta asks suddenly, changing the topic.

How could I forget? I took my sister's place as tribute and that had started a resistance movement in all districts of Panem.

"Of course I do. We were unforgettable in those fire costumes," I say, smiling a little. It seems terrible that we are able to pull jokes about such a horrible thing as the Hunger Games, but sometimes it helps to make fun of sad events. It is only a way to see the world as a happier place.

"Cinna did such a good job on our wardrobes," Peeta agrees. "Still, that Mockingjay wedding dress is my favourite."

Yes, the wedding dress. In order to stay alive, Peeta and I almost had to get married. When we were called in for the Quarter Quell, the wedding got postponed and Cinna made some alterations to my dress, setting it on fire and revealing a black Mockingjay dress underneath. It was a remarkable piece of clothing. However, I wonder why Peeta chose that to be his favourite.

"Why do you like that one so much?" I ask.

"It's so _you_," he answers and smiles. "It says: 'No one can tell me what to do. I'll burn anything that comes in my way.'"

I can't help but laugh at his statement. In times like these, it's difficult to find anything to laugh about. Dr. Aurelius would be proud of me if he saw me now.

We change the subject back to tomorrow's Reaping, but the sun has gone down and it is getting late, so we decide to hit the hay. After learning what we must perform tomorrow, neither of us wants to sleep alone, so we stay in Haymitch's room. Peeta does not trust himself enough to sleep next to me, so he makes a bed on the floor from sofa cushions and blankets. In the end, it looks pretty comfortable. In my mind, however, I wish he could sleep with me, like he did before the Quarter Quell.

"Goodnight, Katniss," Peeta says as he lies down on his makeshift bed.

"Goodnight, Peeta," I answer and try to make myself comfortable.

My dream is full of crying children with multicoloured hair.

"_Peeta, Katniss, and Haymitch! Come outside!"_ a mechanical voice wakes me up in the morning. I know instantly what is going on; they have come to take us to the Capitol.

I climb out of bed and step over to Peeta, who is still fast asleep. I feel terrible having to wake him up. I know he has as much trouble sleeping as I have.

"Peeta," I whisper and touch his shoulder lightly. He bolts to sit upright, looking frightened.

"I'm sorry I scared you, Peeta. But the hovercraft is here," I tell him.

"It's fine, I just had a wild dream that's all," he says and stumbles up.

Peeta grabs Haymitch's suitcase and we go to the living room. Haymitch is sitting on the sofa, holding his head in both hands.

"Somebody _please_ bring me some liquor," he wails. "I can never go into that hovercraft before I get some beverages in me."

"No can do, Haymitch," Peeta says, authority in his voice. "You have to be sober in the Capitol."

"Come on," I say and take Haymitch's arm. I pull him up and tow him outside, where a hovercraft is waiting with its ladder hanging down for us. We climb on it and hold on tight as they pull us up into the hovercraft.

Plutarch himself greets us when we are safely inside.

"Welcome, friends," he says wholeheartedly and shakes our hands.

After shaking his hand, Haymitch loses his balance and topples down on the floor.

"I need _liquor,_" he croaks and leans his forehead on the floor.

A smile flutters across Plutarch's face and he offers his hand to help Haymitch clamber back on his feet.

"Let's see what I can do," says Plutarch, and he leads us to a room with monitors, a large round table, and a side table full of food and beverages.

I see Haymitch's face brighten up when he lays his eyes on the brandy.

"Go ahead, Haymitch, but control yourself, please," Plutarch says and Haymitch takes off almost running.

Plutarch, Peeta, and I take our seats around the table. I sit next to Peeta in hope that he would give me some strength to go through this conversation. I have a feeling that Plutarch will want to know what we are going to say at the Reaping.

"So, how are things in 12?" he asks after a short silence.

I cannot make myself tell him about my long hours of solitude in my house in Victors' Village. Luckily Peeta saves me from talking.

"It's been good. We've been trying to start a new life in District 12. Katniss is doing well with her therapy." He smiles impishly at me when mentioning the latter.

"Why, that's great!" Plutarch exclaims. "That means you are ready to take on this task."

I am confused. Plutarch saying 'task' does not sound like only the speech at the Reaping.

"You see, there is something else I have planned with the other Gamemakers," he starts, leaning in across the table. "We have restored order in the Capitol. The houses have been rebuilt and the wounded Capitol citizens have been treated. We have decided that the tributes of the last Hunger Games will be Capitol children. Because of this fact, however, we have decided that Caesar Flickerman will not host the show this time. This is why we need you."

I am astounded. Does he really suggest that Peeta and I be the hosts of the last Hunger Games?

"No," says Peeta. "How can you even ask anything like that?" His voice is stern and his eyes full of ice.

"Peeta, I understand that you would be against the idea. But you must understand that you are a big part of this. You were one of the faces of the rebellion, along with the Mockingjay," Plutarch says.

"But I did not even want these Games to be arranged!" Peeta argues. I wish he would look at me. I long to comfort him.

"We need you, Peeta. We need you to make a last entrance, a last performance to show the Capitol that Snow did not destroy you," Plutarch argues back, taking the familiar tone of an army general.

"They can see me on television. But I will not appear as host," Peeta pounds his fist on the surface of the table. I remember when I did the same in the train on the way to my first Games. I had held a knife in my fist back then.

"Fine then. Katniss, will you appear alone?" asks Plutarch.

This time Peeta turns to look at me. His eyes are pleading, blue as the sky. I feel uneasy. I am not ready to face the croud alone.

"I can't do it without you, Peeta," I say. "If you won't come, I won't do it either."

I risk a peek towards Plutarch who has his eyes fixed on Peeta. When I turn my gaze back to Peeta, he is resting his face on his palms.

"Fine," he huffs after a moment of silence. I feel elated but try not to show it, since I know Peeta is not doing this because he wants to. He is doing this because I asked him to.

"Good, now that we've settled that," Plutarch smiles, "would you care to tell me what you have planned to say at the Reaping?"

This is a subject I do not wish to discuss, but since Peeta is even less in the mood for telling him, I am forced to open my mouth.

"We have some guidelines planned," I tell him, "but we decided to go with the feeling."

It was true. After hours of thinking Peeta and I had concluded that we could not determine what to say. I had a feeling that our plan would change anyway. This would be such a baffling experience, as we had to talk to the Capitol citizens in the manner they had talked to us for years. We just could not know what to say beforehand.

Plutarch nods. "I see. It might be a good idea. I've seen how you operate, Mockingjay. You give the audience a piece of your heart every time. I'm sure you'll do fine."

He does not say anything to Peeta. This enangers me, since he is the more charismatic one of us two.

"Peeta has a way with words. Not me," I say, trying to make Peeta feel better about the situation.

"Yes, I could see that from your performance in the Games. He certainly knows how to entertain the Capitol citizens. But can he satisfy the bloodlust of the people of the districts?" asks Plutarch.

I have had enough of this conversation. Luckily before I can do anything rash, Haymitch slumps on the chair next to Plutarch.

"This," he raises his glass, which is almost full of caramel-coloured liquid, "is some good stuff! You don't get this in District 12."

"Haymitch, just keep yourself in check, please. This is important," Plutarch says, shaking his head slightly. Haymitch, however, is past caring.

"_We'll be landing in five minutes, Plutarch,"_ a voice speaks through the loudspeaker on the wall next to the monitors.

Plutarch raises his wrist to his mouth and spoke into his watch: "Thank you, Titus."

The rest of the flight is silent, apart from Haymitch, who had gotten the hiccups. When we finally land, the door is opened and a cool breeze brings in a smell that brings only sad memories to my mind. We are escorted inside the building that used to be Snow's mansion by a group of heavily armed men. I do not like this at all. I feel all the bad memories flooding back in. People dying, guns firing, buildings burning, my sister burning.

Peeta takes my hand in his. This had been a silent plea used by both of us throughout our experiences in the Games. Once life got too hard to handle alone, the feeling of the other's hand brought comfort. I know he is not happy with me for making him succumb to Plutarch's wishes, but at least he still seeks comfort in me.

They take us through the mansion, the guards still staying with us. After a while of walking, they stop in front of a metal door that looks like one that would lead into a basement. Or a bomb shelter. The latter is correct. After unlocking the door using a number code, Plutarch and Titus, the pilot, lead us down, down, down, into a tiny room with yet another metal door. When that door is opened, I see a bomb shelter, just like the one in District 13, but bigger, and more modern. By the looks of it, this room will be our humble abode while in the Capitol, as well as our remake room. There is a hairdresser's corner on the left, a makeup studio on the right, and at the back, racks after racks of clothes, some of which I recognize as Cinna's creations. In the middle of the room, in a well-organized line, stand Venia, Flavius, Octavia, and Portia, smiling and waving at us like nothing had ever happened.

* * *

**I yearn to know what You think! So click a button to voice your opinion. I always enjoy tasteful constructive criticism. **

**Athena's Cabin wishes You a wonderful day!**

**May the odds be EVER in Your favour!**

**AC**


	2. Chapter 2

**Alright, some of you already noticed the adjustment I've made to the original series, so let's make it loud and clear: Portia is not dead! You may cheer now. Her death wasn't vital to the plot, so I figured I'd bring her back to life. Still, all factors of the original Hunger Games series belong to Suzanne Collins. Sadly.**

* * *

"Come here, you sweet girl!" Octavia squeals excitedly, jumping up and down.

I happily embrace each member of my make-up crew, and Peeta receives a pat on the back from Portia. I am surprised by how healthy they all look. Almost unchanged. Flavius had his orange corkscrew curls and purple lipstick, Venia's aqua hair was in spikes again, and Octavia has once again dyed her auburn hair – this time green to match her green-tattooed skin. I wonder how they are taking all of this; having to watch their dear friends' children be murdered in the Games. But even if they felt terrible about it, they did not let it show.

"How are you all?" I ask them after a few minutes of joy.

"Now that you two are here, absolutely marvellous," says Flavius. "I haven't been able to work on anybody's appearance lately. I've missed you so much!"

I cannot help but smile at my silly make-up crew. Over the years I have learned to love them for who they are, and in District 13 they proved themselves to be more than just Capitol-raised fools.

"So," Octavia raises her green eyebrows, "what is going on with our favourite couple?"

There is a short embarrassed silence during which I try not to look at anyone in particular. Of course I knew these people loved gossip and I was also aware of the fact that they thought Peeta and I would be a good couple, but I had not prepared myself for this question. Peeta and I had not given much thought to how we would present ourselves. However, I knew we could trust these people. As I glance back at the door to the bomb shelter, I see that Plutarch, Titus, and the armed men are gone, and the door is closed. That gives me the permission to speak.

"We have not established a romantic relationship after the war," I tell them truthfully. I try my best to be considerate of the team's and Peeta's emotions.

Even despite my attempt, the team's faces fall. "You two give me the worst headaches," says Venia, and pinches the bridge of her nose. I look at Peeta who, luckily, smiles at me.

"We'll see what happens," he says.

"Anyhow, you two look absolutely awful. We have a lot to do before you can be presented to the public," Portia states, eyeing me and Peeta from head to toe. "Octavia and Venia, you two will work on Katniss. Take her to beauty base zero."

Octavia and Venia grab my arms and drag me to a section of the room that is surrounded by curtains. There they tell me to strip down and begin the already familiar procedure of removing my body hair.

"Remember when she was here the first time?" asks Octavia wistfully.

"I certainly do," Venia says. "She looked terrible, but we sure made her beautiful. I'd say she was my masterpiece."

I listen to their blabber only with one ear and sink into my own thoughts. Here I am, back in the Games, like I'd been twice before. Makeup, hair, clothes, spotlights. Now I would see the other side of it. I would have to entertain the spectators on a different level. To be perfectly honest, I would prefer being a Tribute to being the hostess. I shook the self-pity away. I had no right to think like that. This had been my choice. I would do this for Prim. Besides, Peeta is probably feeling even worse about the whole situation.

"Katniss, you may stand up now. Let's get you into this dress," Octavia's voice penetrates my thoughts.

"Close your eyes," Venia says and I feel a piece of clothing being pulled over my head.

After a minute of making sure everything fits, Octavia and Venia tell me to open my eyes.

I'm standing in front of a mirror wearing a dress that I suspect has been designed by Portia. She has stayed loyal to Cinna's idea of presenting me in revolutionary clothing. This time, however, I am not the 'Girl on Fire.' The dress is deep forest green, like the pinetrees in the forest near District 12. Its hem barely reaches my knees. The dress is one shoulder, and the strap attaches to the front of the dress with a brooch – a larger version of my old mockingjay pin. The waist is studded with gold. I look like an ancient huntress. Portia shuffles to us, telling Venia to swap places with her. She wants to work on me, since she designed the dress.

"Portia, this is amazing," I say with a smile. I feel at peace. The dress is unfamiliar, the style completely different from those designed by Cinna. But I feel like myself in this dress.

Portia lifts up her index finger. "Wait until you see the shoes."

Octavia brings her a large fancy cardboard box. Inside, there is a pair of brown leather boots. With hardly any heel, they look like shoes I could imagine myself wearing volunteerily. Once they have put the boots on my feet, Octavia pulls me to the hair corner. She braids my hair over my shoulder, just like it has always been. Venia is back, and she takes me to makeup. Together, she and Portia take me to beauty base zero. Once they are done, they allow me to look into the mirror again. When I see myself, I understand who Portia wants me to portray myself as. Instead of being the Girl on Fire, she wants me to be myself – the Girl with the Bow. And I do not know how to do that. Hunting is something personal to me, and I am not sure how to show that simplistic side of me to the public who remembers me as their Mockingjay, or perhaps 'the girl who shot the president-to-be.'

"Look at you," Octavia squeals in delight. "You will dazzle them!"

"She sure will."

Peeta has been released from his remake session, and he is standing next to me, gazing into the mirror, looking at my reflection.

"You look stunning," he says. I try not to show my embarrassment at the compliment.

"Thank you. You look handsome, too," I say.

He is wearing a simple black tuxedo with a golden tie that matches my pin and studs. I notice his cufflinks are miniatures of my mockingjay pin. It is obvious that Portia wanted us to match somehow.

"So, Peeta, we have been wondering what kind of surprise you will pull out your sleeve this time," Venia snickers.

Peeta flashes her a smile. "You never know."

I smile at the memory of Peeta's way of surprising the audience _and me_ every time he went on stage. In the first Games he declared his love for me; during the Victory Tour he proposed to me; in the Quarter Quell he told the audience I was pregnant. I understood why the team would be expecting something as extravagant from tonight's performance as well.

Suddenly Plutarch walks into the room, accompanied by two armed guards.

"You look simply lovely," he states politely. "I have come to inform you that the Reaping will begin momentarily. You will speak to the audience, welcoming them to the last ever Hunger Games, which our Gamemakers have nicknamed the Capitol Carnage. Then you will proceed into the actual Reaping, which will be performed like the last 75, twelve girls and twelve boys will be Reaped. You are to congratulate the Tributes and they will be escorted into our training facilities. We will tell you more after the Reaping. Any questions?"

I shake my head, and Peeta does the same.

"Do you both know what to say?" Plutarch checks.

I have no idea, but I nod reassuringly.

Plutarch claps his hands together. "Marvellous! Let us go to the backstage. You'll entrance on the stage will be queued after Paylor gives the President's welcome."

He doesn't wait for us to answer to that. Instead he turns around and leads us out of the room. I glance back and the team gives me a reassuring thumbs-up. I do not want to go on stage. My stomach churns and I grasp Peeta's hand in mine. He gives it a light squeeze.

"Don't worry," he says quietly.

"How can I not? You like this even less than I do," I whisper back.

"Then let me worry, and you just do your thing and sweep them off their feet. You're the face of the rebellion. Whatever Plutarch might say, it's clear that the revolution had one moral leader. And that wasn't me."

I try to argue, but Peeta silences me by shaking his head. I let the subject drop. Backstage, Plutarch hands cordless earpieces to me and Peeta.

"Just in case something happens, we will give you instructions. If anything is to happen, you must follow our orders. Understood?" he asks, giving me a meaningful look. Yes, I know I deserve it. I had not been the most obedient soldier while in District 13.

"I understand," I state flatly, nervousness sending butterflies around my stomach.

We listen to Paylor's speech. It reminds me too much of those of President Snow's. It's seemingly compassionate, but underneath there is bare coldness. But the cool dismissive tone that was once addressed to the people of the districts, is now directed towards the Capitol. The world I once knew has been turned upside down.

"And now I am proud to present to you," Paylor ends the speech, "our beloved hosts Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!"

That is our queue. Without letting go of my hand, Peeta leads us on the stage.

_'Smile and wave. Just smile and wave,'_ I think to myself and force my lips curve into a TV smile.

The crowd roars with excitement, welcoming us to the stage. Why would they not? We are the reason they get to see Capitol children be taken from their parents into a certain death. I dare not to focus my gaze on the spectators. The audience is a blur in my eyes.

"Good evening, Panem!" Peeta shouts and the crowd cheers at him. "Happy Hunger Games!"

He squeezes my hand, expecting me to say something. I realize I am not at all prepared to speak, so I say the first words that I can associate with the situation:

"And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

I almost clasp my hand over my mouth when I notice I have mimicked the Capitol accent, just like all those times when Gale and I had made fun of the Games. The crowd does not seem to mind though, so as we stop at the very front of the stage in between two glass spheres filled with pieces of paper, my heartbeat slows down a little. The worst is over. I have shown myself to them. I made a satisfactory entrance.

"As all of you know, this is the last time we will gather around for the matter at hand. For years this has been done annually, but this time shall end it all," Peeta starts calmly.

_'Keep up the appearance. You are a revolutionary. You want justice,' _I remind myself. _'Vengeance for Prim.'_

That does it. I am ready to speak.

"People of Panem, people of the districts and the Capitol, for too long have mothers feared for the loss of a son; for too long have brothers mourned over their dead sisters. And for too long, a minority has oppressed and exploited the less-privileged."

My voice gets louder and more demanding by the second. I feel myself transform, for one last time, into the Mockingjay. I let myself take flight this one last time, hoping it will satisfy the crowd.

"We wanted freedom. Now we have it. And now, finally, the tyranny shall end. Once and for all, I am proud to announce the beginning of the first and the last Capitol Carnage!"

The crowd erupts into a series of hoots that continue for a long while. Suddenly I am sure I can hear a rhythm; a chant is repeated over and over again by the audience. I dare to focus my eyes on the people. I see the familiar sight of boys and girls segregated with ropes into two sections. Behind them on the stands, sit a thousand, perhaps even more people. On lower levels, I can see people with fluorescent hair and tattoos, and higher up, people who clearly have come from the districts to watch.

The chant gets louder, and I realize what they are saying:

"_If we burn, you burn with us."_

By my side, I feel Peeta's body tense and he suddenly lets go of my hand, taking a step away from me. I look at him and see him pinching the bridge of his nose. The crowd does not notice. They are on fire. My fire. And I can bet my house that the Capitol used that particular propo in hijacking Peeta. I know I need to act. Plutarch will not necessarily understand the severity of the situation. I must calm Peeta down. But first I must deal with the crowd.

"Yes, Panem, you got what you wished for," I say and smile, but the crowd keeps chanting. From the corner of my eye I see Peeta turn around to face me, yet squeezing his eyes shut tight. I know the sight of me will most likely trigger his flashbacks.

"_Everybody quiet!"_ I shout as loud as I possibly can. There is a sudden silence.

"Thank you," I say and turn to Peeta.

"Peeta?" I ask hesitantly, hoping for an answer.

He is taking deep breaths through his nose. His arms are at his sides, his fists clenched tight, and his eyes are still closed.

"The bombing in District 8 was your fault. Real or not real?" he asks quietly.

"Not real. Those were Capitol hovercraft sent to cause terror," I answer truthfully.

Peeta opens his eyes. "This is the stage where I first told you I loved you. Real or not real?"

"Real," I confirm.

There is a quiet 'aww' from the audience and Peeta's lips curve into a slight smile. He then turns back to face the crowd.

"Do you want to know a secret?" he asks them. They cheer.

"The prep team backstage asked me what I will reveal about me and Katniss this time." They laugh.

"But you know what? I didn't prepare anything spectacular. Yet look what just happened. Even without a plan I managed to do it again. Wow, I guess I am a Lover Boy after all."

I cannot believe his charisma. After seconds of reviving from a hijack flashback he is able to crack a joke at the audience. The crowd is giggling and I step closer to the glass globe on my right. Peeta moves to the one on his left.

"Now, children of Capitol. Twelve girls and twelve boys will be selected to represent your city in the 76th and last ever Hunger Games," I say, starting the official part of the evening. "Ladies first."

I remind myself of Effie Trinket and I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. I pick a piece of paper from the globe and read the name of the first girl who I will sentence to inevitable death.

"Tacita Wilden."

A petite girl, around fourteen, is being pulled out of the crowd of girls by an armed man dressed in black. The new generation of Peacekeepers, I reckon, those men in black. They bring her to us on the stage and make her stand put behind us. I catch a glimpse of her as they make her pass me. She has baby blue hair, but surprisingly that is the only unnatural feature of her appearance. The most natural part of her are her eyes – brown like the earth, fearful, searching for an escape route. I commence to pull out another slip. Time after time I pull those little piecess of paper out of that glass sphere, and girl after girl is being pulled out from the area of Capitol children. Finally, after the eleventh, it is time to draw the name of the last girl Tribute of the Hunger Games. I let my hand slide between the paper slips, wanting to slow the process down a little. I take a deep breath and pull out the name of the final Tribute.

"Antigone Snow."

A gasp erupts from the audience, and I have to really make an effort to keep my own composure. I have just drawn the name of one of President Snow's granddaughters. The men in black approach an about 17-year-old girl to escort her on the stage, but a blood-chilling scream stops them for a moment.

"No! Antigone!" a little girl, perhaps a ten-year-old, screams and runs out into the segregated area. She pushes her way to Antigone and holds onto her tightly.

The armed men pull the two apart and bring Antigone on the stage. I can barely hear the heartbroken sobs of the little girl, but I know how much agony she must bear. Those two girls must be close.

"So, now we have the girls. Let's see which of your boys will get to represent the Capitol," says Peeta from the other glass globe.

One by one he draws the names of twelve boys. They look so different than the Tributes I have seen before. They are well-groomed, well-fed, and polished in a way that is completely impossible in the districts. Or at least used to be. We still need to wrap up the Reaping, so I prepare myself to say something for the end, but Plutarch starts to talk in my earpiece:

"_It's time for the anthem. They made a completely new one after the war, so you have not heard it yet. Just announce this and smile as they play it from the loudspeakers."_

Peeta has obviously received the same message, because when I repeat Plutarch's announcement, he does not look confused at all. As we shuffle back to stand closer together, the brand-new national anthem plays:

_O Panem, your day is dawning,  
Dark clouds are far behind.  
Bravely you fought an iron hand  
For a day that's just and kind.  
Together we stand,  
United we stand  
The districts, all thirteen.  
With fire we rose  
From ashes we rose  
To a morn so fresh and clean._

_'Prim, this is for you. All for you,' _I think as I listen to the song. We truly have created a new country, and I will always remember the cost. I would give anything to have Prim by my side to see what we accomplished by the rebellion. _'However,' _I remind myself, _'If she were here, these Games would not have been arranged.'_

"Happy Hunger Games!" I say when the anthem ends, happy to end the Reaping.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Peeta adds, and we escort the 24 Tributes backstage.

* * *

**Sooo, what did You think? Leave a message. By the way, how did you like the name of Snow's granddaughter? Points to those who figure out the meaning behind it! ;)**

**More hungergameness will ensue after I finish the next chapter. Until then, may the odds be ever in your favour!**

**AC**


	3. Chapter 3

**I am highly sorry for the long time no see! My school work is taking the best of me. But don't You fret, my dears. It'll all be over soon. And I'm back now, and I come with a new chapter for You! Here you go!**

* * *

When we step backstage, a pink hurricane hits us.

"Look at you two! I'm so, so, _so _proud of you!" Effie Trinket smothers us with a very wig-full hug. "You were so charming! Except the part where you told everyone to be quiet, Katniss, that was un-called for."

If I ever said I missed Effie, I lied. Now that she is here, she instantly stars to get on my nerves.

"Hi, Effie," I greet her halfheartedly.

"Nice to see you again," adds Peeta. Charmer.

I look around me and see that the armed men have taken the Tributes away. That makes me recall what happened on stage. I made President Snow's granddaughter the 12th girl Tribute of the Capitol Carnage. I want nothing more than to get some time alone with Peeta so we could discuss this.

A chance presents itself after dinner. Plutarch arranged us to meet with Paylor for supper. Effie was invited as well, and she was thrilled to be dining with the president. Her correctness in the dinner table is amusing. Plutarch is quieter than usual. When we ask him what is bothering him, he tells us that one of the reaped girls is his niece. I feel terrible. After the meal, Peeta and I excuse ourselves and leave the dining room while the others chuckle and give remarks about star-crossed lovers. Without saying a word, Peeta and I return to our bombshelter of a room. After finding it empty, we talk.

"I cannot believe this," Peeta exclaims and plodds onto his bed. "What were the odds anyway?"

"Certainly not in their favor," I say bitterly. "I wonder who the little girl was."

Peeta looks at me, compassion flooding from his blue eyes. He knows what I am thinking. What if that little girl was Antigone's sister? I start to pace frantically back and forth in the room.

"This wasn't your fault, Katniss," Peeta says.

"I know," I huff, throwing my hands in the air in exasperation. "But I can't help feeling like I could have chosen another name. The worst part is that the audience loves this! You saw them. They are still filled with hatred towards the Capitol."

Peeta stands up and walks to me. He takes my hand in his. I am surprised by the gesture. After his hijacking acting up, it took him quite some time to start talking to me again, never to mention come close to me.

"I hate to tell you this, especially since you blame yourself for everything that has happened, but you did agree to this in the first place," he says softly. "But what's done is done. Now you just have to make the best from what you have."

He is right, like many times before. I cannot fix this. I defied the Capitol, but I cannot defy the odds. I the only thing I can do is try to play my cards so that the least harm can happen. I have to question my power, though, since I am only a hostess in these Games. I would have to plan something. I just wish I had some help. I'm not sure if Peeta would help me. He seems to want to get the Games over with as fast as possible.

"I believe you'll do what's right. I mean, look what you've done up until now," he says, gesturing at me with his free hand, the other one still holding mine.

One of the things I like most about Peeta is that he has the ability to make anyone feel better by doing the smallest of things. He knows how to lighten people up. I should tell that to him more often, but I don't want him to get his hopes up about me loving him in the way he loves me. Instead I step closer to him in order to give him a hug, but he takes a step back, letting go of my hand.

"I don't trust myself," he utters shortly.

I forgot about what happened to him on stage. How could I be so selfish? I hated to see him in pain, so why did I not pay more attention to his well-being?

"I'm so sorry about what happened to you on stage. That was my fault. I should have not led them on."

"Hey, it wasn't your fault," Peeta says hastily. "Don't feel bad for me. I'll be alright."

"How can I not feel bad? If I hadn't pulled out those berries in the first place, you would be completely safe! I would have offed myself and you would be a happy victor. The Capitol wouldn't have used you, mutilated you, hijacked you!" I am furious at myself, him, the Capitol, all those who have ever caused us pain. And now the Carnage.

"I'm the reason why you can't be happy," I state. It's true. I have ruined his health. I'm not able to love him back the way he loves me. How can he say that nothing is my fault?

"Hey now," Peeta says, taking my hand again. "I don't blame you for anything. You've only tried to save people. Real?"

I nod slowly. "I just cannot see that, after so many things that have gone wrong because of me."

"One day you will," Peeta says and smiles reassuringly. "I promise."

The door opens and Effie, Haymitch, Plutarch, and our prep team burst into the room.

"Now that the Tributes are picked, you should study their backgrounds a little, so you can make their interviews exciting for the audience," Plutarch says, handing us large grey files, containing information about the Tributes.

"The parade will ensue tomorrow, but before that we would like you to meet all Tributes for once and chat with them a little," says Effie.

"What do you want us to say?" Peeta asks, skimming the pages of his file.

"Oh, you know, wish them good luck and ask whether they are as excited as you are," Effie instructs with Venia, Octavia, and Flavius nodding in approval.

"Just try to help them accept their fate," adds Plutarch. "Make them feel good about the situation. You've been there, you should know."

He is right, but he doesn't understand. There is no way of coming to terms with the Games. He has never been there. Peeta and I have been there twice. I am surprised we have survived this well. Most of the people who got out alive are presently dosing themselves with morphling or alcohol. I glance at Haymitch, who is his usual grumpy self, bickering with Effie about what exactly we should say to the Carnage Tributes. He is one of those who need the comfort of alcohol. But even that doesn't help him sleep at night. I happen to know he does not sleep in the dark.

"One more thing, Katniss and Peeta," Effie says before they leave. "We have been talking about how you two should present yourselves as a unit."

Oh no. Here comes the verdict. Are we to be a happy couple again? Or can we try to pursue our normal friendship?

"And we decided that you two should be the ones to decide about that," grunts Haymitch. "Although, you know what the crowd wants."

They leave us alone, except Octavia, who helps me out of my clothes and wishes me goodnight. Peeta is left alone to deal with removing his makeup. After Octavia decides I'm purified of all the extra layers on my skin, she too, leaves.

"So, what do you think?" I ask Peeta, as I wrap myself in a robe and walk to him. He is still in the middle of removing his makeup.

"About?" he asks back, struggling to get the last traces of eyeliner off his face.

"Here," I tell him and take a cotton swab from a jar on the counter. After dipping it into some makeup remover, I start to gently wipe off Peeta's eyeliner.

"I was asking you about what Haymitch said. What do you think about the way we should present ourselves?" I ask, defining the exact question.

Peeta's cheek feels oddly hot under my hand that's resting there in order to keep his head from moving much. I do not want to stick the cotton swab in his eye. Intuition tells me that under my palm, Peeta's face is growing redder and redder by the second. And I immediately feel the sensation of awkwardness that overcomes me whenever we discuss the subject of our relationship.

"Well, I think you already know what I want," he says slowly, unsurely almost. His breath tickles my wrist as I still work on his makeup.

I nod at his statement. "Yes, I know," I say, not knowing how to continue.

"So, what do you say?" Peeta asks.

Ugh, I do not want to be the one to decide. If I say we should present ourselves as merely friends, he will feel bad, since I do not want to play our little game of star-crossed lovers. I am not saying that I did not enjoy the kisses, the closeness, the safety of our fake relationship. But if I say yes to playing the part of future Mrs. Mellark, he will surely get his hopes up. And I am not ready to decide. I'm still in the process of healing from all I've had to go through. I don't want to lead Peeta on. He does not deserve it. So instead, I say:

"Please don't make me decide alone."

Peeta raises his hands and takes mine in them, pulling my hands off his face.

"Look, Katniss, I know you don't think you can be in a relationship. With me or with anyone. That's pretty clear," he says, clearly trying to find the right words. "But I would be most honoured to get the last chance of being your fake fiancé. For the crowd, for the Games."

After all I have made him go through, I cannot deny him this. Call me a bad person for letting him think I would come around soon, but I owe him more than my life.

"That's settled then," I say. "Star-crossed lovers it is."

Peeta's face melts into the most genuine of smiles. "How much I wish this was for real," he says and raises the back of my hand to touch them with his lips. Then he releases my hands and without saying a word, he walks to his showering area.

Oh, dear me.

There is one thing I cannot understand. How can he still love me? After two Games, the rebellion, months of not talking to each other, the hijacking, the many times I'd broken his heart, he keeps on coming back to me. I cannot, for the life of me, figure out the reason why. Maybe someday I'll ask him. Maybe I'll never find out. But there is something about the whole situation that does not make sense to me at all.

I decide to go to bed. It has been a dreadfully exhausting day. While Peeta is still showering, I change into my pajamas and slide under the covers of my bed. Just as I'm falling asleep, Peeta finishes his shower and changes into his pajamas as well. Well, just the pants. I have known him long enough to know he only wears the bottom half of pajamas. It used to make me uneasy, seeing him without a shirt. Now I don't mind. Who's pure now, huh? Peeta has no reason to mock me about being pure anymore. Not after everything that has happened. I slip into the world of dream without a slightest fear of the dreams to come. In them, a little girl keeps screaming, but the sound of it does not hit my nerve. The back of my hand tingles pleasantly throughout my sleep. Why does it keep tingling?

* * *

Effie wakes us up into another "big, big, _big_ day."

"You will meet the Tributes in three hours, so chop chop, up you get. It's time for breakfast. I hear they have fresh scones today," she babbles and rushes out of the room as quickly as she came in.

"Uggh," I moan and bury my face in my pillow.

"Let's get up, I don't want her to come back," Peeta says, snickering.

"I'm just way too tired. I had the stupidest dream," I say and climb out of bed.

"Want to talk about it?" asks Peeta, while choosing his clothes from a drawer next to his bed.

Did I want to talk about it? Did I want to burden him with my worries?

"How were your dreams?" I ask, hoping they were more pleasant than mine.

"Surprisingly mellow," he answers, buttoning down his shirt.

I start to rummage through my drawer and find a pair of stretchy, comfy trousers and a pleated shirt.

"Care to share? Might lighten me up," I suggest. "And if you don't mind, please don't look. I cannot be bothered to change in my remake area."

As I start to change into my day clothes, Peeta tells me about his dream, .

"I was just sitting on a rock, watching a mockingjay fly over a meadow over and over again," he says. "Listening it sing. The melody was familiar, but I could not figure out where I'd heard it before. I guess that was the only bad thing about the dream, not knowing. I didn't even feel lonely, even though I was alone. The mockingjay kept me company."

I feel the sense of catharsis in my mind as I listen to his dream. So blissfully mellow, nowhere above ordinary. Just a day in the Meadow, watching birds fly above, trying to spot figures in the clouds. I have spent many summer afternoons like that with Gale.

Gale...

I wonder when I will see him again. I wonder what it would be like to see him again. After all, I always feel a sting of betrayal in my chest when I think of him. His invention killed my sister. He is out in District Two now, having a life of his own, while I am still in Twelve, trying to make up my mind, and fix myself after everything. If I did see Gale now, I would not know what to say. It would be too difficult.

"Sounds like a happy dream," I tell Peeta. I sit on my bed to brush my hair, and then fix it on the usual braid.

"Shall we go eat?" Peeta asks after I'm done. I nod and we leave the bomb shelter.

We find the rest in the dining room, where the presidential dinner was held last night. They have already finished, but being polite, have waited for us to join them. After filling our plates with the most wonderful treats, and chugging down cups of hot chocolate, Peeta and I join their conversation, the topic of which are the Tributes. Especially one of them.

"Katniss, the odds are certainly in your favour now," Plutarch says, munching a buttery roll. "The audience will love the idea of having Snow's granddaughter in the Carnage."

Effie nods her head enthusiastically. "Yes, yes. I was so very excited when I heard her name being called," she says, and our remake crew nodds in approval.

I feel like asking them whether the little girl was Antigone's little sister, but I decide not to. I want to ask that from her when I meet her in person.

"So, what did you end up choosing about your relationship on stage?" asks Octavia.

"We'll stick to being the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve for this last time," Peeta tells her, and a squeal of delight erupts from her, Venia, and Flavius. Portia does not say a thing, but her smile reaches from ear to ear.

"Oh, that's _wonderful!_" says Effie, clapping her hands together.

"Was this a mutual decision?" Haymitch asks, eyeing me over his glass of brandy.

I nod. "Yes, it was."

The subject is dropped after a while of speculation, in which Peeta and I choose not to join. Effie stands up and wipes the corners of her lips in a posh, polished manner.

"Now, we are on a schedule. You are to meet the Tributes where they are being remade for the chariot parade in one hour," she says. "We need to make you two look suitable."

"Do we really have to be looking our best? This is not even televised," I groan, but Effie insists on some makeup and wants me to wear a dress.

"Well that's just ducky," I mumble as she walks us and our makeup crew back into the bomb shelter.

"Don't you worry, it's just makeup. Besides, you are a girl. You're supposed to wear makeup. I'm a boy, we don't usually wear eyeliner," Peeta whispers. That makes me feel much better. I even stifle a giggle.

"Thanks," I say, and he takes my hand in his. I happily let him.

When we reach our room, Venia separates us with a wide grin, and takes me to my remake station. There, she and Flavius put some foundation and mascara on me. Not much, just to "accentuate my features," as Flavius says it. Then they have me dress into a short yellow dress with pretty lace details. It feels like one of those dresses Cinna designed for me when I had to look like a love-crazed girl. But I still love it. Venia and Flavius let me keep my hair on a braid, which is a relief. I still have to be remade for the opening ceremony tonight.

I link arms with Peeta as the crew leads us to another part of the president's mansion, still underground. The room we enter is huge, and has been divided into twenty-four sections; one for each Tribute.

"In you go," says Octavia, and she pushes us further inside the room. "Just chat with them a little."

Each section of the room is occupied by a Tribute and two stylists. I remember this part from my first Games. They soke you in disgusting solutions, take all your body hair away, and insult your looks. But in the end, it is not that bad. The worst is still on the way.

Peeta and I visit each section together. Apparently, each of the tributes has been given a number, depending on the order their names were pulled from the Reaping balls. That way, the Tributes formed twelve pairs, like in any ordinary Games. In my mind, I made a note that Antigone has taken over being the girl with the number 12.

We learn a lot about our Capitol Tributes. Their ages range from twelve to eighteen, except none of them is fourteen. Plutarch's niece, Aemilia Finegold, is girl number seven. I hear many names during those few hours we spend with the Tributes; Cornelia Crane, the daughter of Seneca Crane, goes with the number 3; Tacita Wilden, a very timid 15-year-old girl, number 1. Then there are people whose names are so difficult to remember that I cannot for the life of me recall their last names. There are Minerva and Drusus with the number five, Juno and Aurelius with 8, Lucretia and Valerius with 2. Apparently we have drawn the names of twins, a boy and a girl. Marius and Minerva are both tremendously muscular for Capitol citizens, and there is apparent hatred in their eyes.

After asking a few questions from the boy with 12, Livius, we head to Antigone's section. She is in the process of being stripped from her leg hair. In my eyes, she already looks hairless, since the Capitol citizens like to shave their legs regularly. But apparently that is not enough. She does not wince, however, which makes me suspect this is not the first time this has been done to her.

"Hello, Antigone," I greet her. She jumps, since she did not hear us coming.

"Hi," she says with a soft Capitol accent.

"How are you feeling?" asks Peeta.

"How did you feel?" Antigone asks back. There is no hostility in her voice. It's flat, like I remember mine was before my first Games.

"I understand," Peeta says.

"No you don't. She might," she says, nodding her head towards me. "She had to leave her sister, too. But she still had a mother to take care of her. My sister does not have anyone. They arranged her a place to stay. My mother's best friend takes care of her."

She keeps her voice as flat as she can with that amusing Capitol accent. With the intonation typical to Capitol citizens, it is difficult not to sound animated. Her eyes, however, tell the story of a worrying sister.

"I'm sorry, Antigone," I say. But I cannot say anything else. I made this happen. I voted for these Games, and even if it was for Prim, I realize I have created another of her kind. A little sister without the older one to care for her.

"Why are you sorry? It's the Capitol's fault all of this happened, anyway," she says, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows.

I am perplexed by her statement. She is different from the other Capitol kids. I wonder what made her become so against the Capitol's actions.

"You were my favourite Tributes, you know," she says. "Everyone loved you. But I was the only one who was disgusted by what the Capitol did to you. Everyone else only cared about the melodrama. The 'star-crossed lovers of District Twelve' were a hit. But after they intentionally ruined your life. Your baby..." she stops talking.

Peeta instinctively lifts his hand to rest it on my abdomen. We had played this game in the Quell so many times. Plutarch had told us to keep the lover act up with the Tributes as well, just so nobody would get any ideas. A counter-rebellion was the last thing they wanted.

"Don't you feel bad for us, Antigone," Peeta says. "We stayed strong. Now you'll just have to do the same."

I remember Cinna's comforting words. The ones he said to me before I entered that tube that took me on the arena.

"I'm not allowed to bet, but I'd bet on you," I tell Antigone, hoping it would give her confidence to face what is to come.

"You could make a difference," she says. "I don't understand why you two out of all people would help them make these Games."

I look at Peeta, knowing he is thinking the same thing as me. I voted 'yes'. If only she knew we were the ones making this decision. But it is better not to let her know.

"Sometimes you just have to do what is difficult," Peeta says, and wrapping his arm around my waist, he walks me away from Antigone.

It is nice, Peeta's arm around me, like in the 74th Games, like in the Quell. Like it used to be. I feel the ache of longing. Those days, no matter how horrible, still had a silver lining. And that was never being really alone. Peeta had alway been there. I wish that someday I will be able to tell him what I want. To let him go, or keep him. I know it hurts him, hanging in the middle. I'm like the mockingjay from his dream. Keeping him company, but not really there, flying above him. I cannot be caught. Not before I say the word.

* * *

**Soo, that was it. New stuff will be coming up sooner or later. Keep waiting for it. It will be good. But please tell me what you thought of this chapter. I always love to hear what You liked/disliked. I only work to make this better for my audience.**

**May the odds be ever in Your favor.**

**AC**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello dearest people!**

**I am pleased to inform you that following this statement is the fourth chapter of Capitol Carnage! I hope you'll enjoy it. I won't be returning with more for a couple weeks, as I will be getting hypothetical 'A':s from my IB1 exams. May the odds be ever in my favour... But after exams, I shall come back to you and write you something lovely. Now, without further ado, the fourth chapter of Capitol Carnage! Behold!**

* * *

"I didn't even dare to think that the Capitolean youth would be against their city," I muse when Peeta and I make our way back to our quarters.

"Me neither. I wonder how much she made her thoughts known," says Peeta.

"Probably not much. I bet she would be dead by now if she had gone about shouting words of hatred in public," I note.

"Point well made," Peeta agrees.

Effie is waiting for us in our room. I wonder whether Plutarch has made her our escort again. I hope not, but the odds have not been in my favour lately. Effie tells us that there will be a formal gathering today a few hours before the opening ceremony. Important people have been invited to the Capitol to celebrate the last Games. These people include the mayors of each district, their families, and other people that have been important to the rebellion.

"Maybe we'll see Annie and Johanna again!" Peeta exclaimes happily as Effie announces the latter.

I feel happy to see our old friends again. However, that would mean seeing someone else, too. Someone I am not ready to face yet. When Effie leaves, she tells us to wait for the crew to redo us for the party. I sink on my makeup chair and let out a sigh.

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks, rubbing my shoulders.

"Well, there's someone who will most likely be at the party, and I don't necessarily want to see him," I tell him. What's the use of keeping this from him?

"Why don't you want to see him?" he asks. I mentally thank him for not making me say his name out loud.

"It was his invention that killed Prim. It's just difficult to face him after that," I say truthfully.

"Don't worry, I'll help you," says Peeta. "You know I have numerous reasons to."

"Be nice," I snap at him with a hint of playfulness in my voice.

"Fine, whatever you say," he answers with a similar tone.

"Lovebirds! Let's prepare you for the party!" Venia announces as the crew makes a grand entrance into the room. Portia walks Peeta back to his own station, and Octavia and Flavius start to spread some disgusting goo on my face. I hear it is supposed to make me look pretty.

"You will be dazzling today," Octavia says excitedly. "You'll make people go 'ooh' and 'ahh' when you walk into the room."

And that was supposed to make me feel good about myself. Too bad I am not one to seek attention.

Peeta has the makeup thing easy, obviously due to him being a boy. He spends half the time in my remake station, talking to me.

"I've been thinking about starting a new project," he says. "A painting one."

"That sounds great. What do you have in mind?" I ask, happy for him that he has found something to occupy his mind. I know I could use a distraction for my thoughts.

"Well, I already painted parts of the Games, so now I'd like to channel my emotions into something more positive. Sort of a story of how we got through it all," Peeta explains. To me, that sounds lovely.

"I like the idea. Maybe that will help you get past those hijacking flashbacks, too," I tell him.

"That's what I thought about, too."

After what seems like ages of scrubbing, bathing, pulling, kneading, and tearing, I am ready to go. Peeta praises my dress and Portia blushes scarlet. Today, I am wearing a short, midnight blue cocktail dress. My hair has been braided, and the braids have been twisted into the back of my head in a bun. I have to admit to myself that I do look pretty. The crew uses our facilities to change into their own party clothes, which does not take longer than ten minutes, and then we leave for the party.

"It's not just the dress that's beautiful tonight," Peeta says as we walk into the president's ballroom.

I look down at my toes. His compliments embarrass me, even though they should not. I know he means what he says. But I guess that is the very reason why they make me embarrassed.

"Look up, shoulders back," Venia whispers to me, and I correct my posture. Peeta snickers.

"You of all people should not mock me," I tell him. "You know how lethal I can get."

"I also know you would never kill me," he says back, and I elbow him in the ribs.

The ballroom is full of people. At first sight, I see no one who I know, but after looking around for a moment, I spot people who I've seen on the Victory Tour, in District 13, and in the Capitol during our first Games and the Quarter Quell.

"Shall we, dearest?" Peeta asks and offers his arm for me. I take the hint and we link arms. The situation reminds me of the ball at the end of the Victory Tour. Peeta and I had tried to pull off the lover-act, trying to sneak away and dancing tenderly. Now we have to try again. We cannot reveal the fact that we decided only to act in love on stage. This will be our last performance before the Carnage really starts.

"To be honest, I can't remember how to act in love. It's been so long," I admit as we walk further inside the ballroom.

"Don't you worry, just follow my lead," says Peeta. I feel a twinge of guilt. He does not have to act. He is already there.

We mingle with people we know, and Plutarch grabs the opportunity to introduce us to people we should know. We see Enobaria who has come from District 2 to watch the Games. She is excited, since she was one of those Victors who wanted the Carnage to be arranged. I try to sound as enthusiastic about the Games as she does, but Peeta has to patch my act up a great deal. The only thing I can do is keep Prim's image in my head. I get power from the memory of her. Power to keep going, to keep acting.

"Oh look, it's you, brainless," I hear a voice from behind me as I grab a glass of punch from a tray an Avox offers me. I cannot believe they decided to keep the Avoxes as servants after the revolution.

"Hi, Johanna," I greet the newcomer. I feel happy to see her again. "How are you doing?"

Johanna shrugs. "Meh, I've had worse. What about you, crazy? The last time I saw you, you killed our president-to-be."

"It's been hard, but I'm getting there," I tell her, leaning a little against Peeta.

"I see," she says, raising her eyebrows. "Is she still a mutt, Peeta?" she laughs.

I am alarmed by the joke. Who knows, it might set Peeta off. But my worry is needless.

"Not at all," he laughs with Johanna. "At least most of the time she isn't."

Suddenly Johanna lets out a small shriek of joy. "Annie!" she squeals, and a nervous-looking woman, largely pregnant, joins our conversation.

It becomes evident that Annie Cresta is getting better with her hysteria, especially with the baby on the way. She remembers Finnick with warmth and longing, but does not cry when asked about him. She is a strong person. I wish I could be as strong.

Johanna and Annie are soon stolen from our company by some other guests, which leaves Peeta and I alone again. We exchange pleasantries with half-strangers, admiring their choice of dress or asking how their families are. Beetee is there, too, and he comes to greet us. He has been appointed a higher management position in 3, which he seems happy about. His microscopic musical chips had not been successful for long, since their production had ceased because of the revolution, but the markets are climbing up again. He tells us that he will be staying with Plutarch for the duration of the Carnage.

"That's wonderful! We'll get to catch up more," I say wholeheartedly. I had missed Beetee a lot while back in Twelve.

"Definitely so," he says. "Good luck for tonight's show." And then he is off to grab some food.

Haymitch drops by, warning us that there have been a few people questioning the strength of our relationship. I personally think of it as a legitimate question, considering that everyone saw mine and Peeta's contradicting propaganda on television during the revolution. But for the Carnage, it is safer that there be no doubt about our love. That is why Peeta asks me to dance. He leads me to the floor, where a few couples are already dancing cheek-to-cheek. We join them, and I press against Peeta, resting my head on his shoulder.

"Should we try to make another escape?" I ask him. "You know, like we did during the Tour?"

"I say we save our old tricks for an emergency. We should try something new," he says, and I can hear from his voice that he is smiling.

"But what if something does go wrong?" I ask. "I don't think I can take any more mishaps. Especially if they happen because of something I did or did not do in the Hunger Games."

"Well, we'll just have to figure out how to convince them," Peeta assures me. "However, meanwhile, a kiss or two would do the trick. If I may."

He kisses me softly, and I accept the kiss, however I am afraid that if I try too much, it will cause Peeta's flashbacks to come to play. When his lips leave mine, I get a sense of loss, but I push it aside. I have not decided what I want yet.

"Catnip," someone utters behind me. I feel Peeta's head shoot up to look at the newcomer. I do not have to look in order to know who it is. Nobody else would call me 'Catnip.' Only him.

I turn around in Peeta's arms, while he still keeps them wrapped around my torso in a protective manner.

"Gale."

"Yes, it's me. How are you? You look breathtaking," he says, smiling a smile that reminds me of the old days when it was just me, him, and the woods around District 12. However, the smile does not have the qualities it used to have. It is not as relaxed, not as genuine. This smile, however real it might seem, is forced.

"I'm fine. And thanks," I say. I do not feel the need to return the compliment.

"Hello, Gale," Peeta says, his arms still around me. "How's life in Two?"

Gale shrugs. "Oh, the usual. Work. I do miss home though."

"Yes, they are in the process of rejuvenating it," says Peeta. "Everything is still in process, though."

"I bet. It looked pretty demolished the last time I saw it," Gale states, trying to keep up a polite small-talk.

"The people, too, are recovering," Peeta goes on, his voice cooling down, gaining an edge.

"Katniss, are you coping with everything?" Gale suddenly asks me, shrugging off Peeta's remark.

I do not want to answer to that. How could I confide in him? Yes, he was my best friend for years. And yes, I had thought we had a chance of becoming a romantic couple as well. But that was all before the war. Before I saw my sister catch fire.

Peeta saves me from answering. "We've been helping each other as much as we've been able to," he says, trying to be civil for me. "I think Katniss is making more progress."

Gale suddenly looks at Peeta's hands resting on my abdomen. His expression is quizzical.

"I'd actually really like to talk to you, Katniss," he says. "Do you mind?"

Do I mind? Yes. Can I show it? No. Or can I? I turn around in Peeta's arms.

"Peeta, if I go with Gale, will it make our act look weird?" I ask him quietly. Gale is now behind me, so I give Peeta a very meaningful look. Luckily, he catches on quickly.

"Good point," he says. He lets go of my body, taking my hand instead, and we turn to face Gale again.

"I'm afraid I can't go talk with you," I tell him.

"Why?" he scoffs. "Does he own you now? Is that how you comfort each other?" He takes a step closer to me.

"Calm down, Gale. We're in public," says Peeta.

Gale looks like he would keep arguing, but in the end, decides to drop it. "Fine," he says, "I can talk to her here."

"Yes, anything you need to say, you can say with Peeta being here," I tell him.

"Alright. So, here goes then. I've missed you," he says.

A part of me wants to say how much I have missed him, too, but a bigger part tells me I cannot. Not after Prim's death.

"I thought you would've had enough work to forget all about me," I say flatly.

"How could I? After all these years, how is that even possible? You know I could never forget you, Catnip. That's why I was so happy when I got to come here. I thought, maybe we could catch up. And of course, the Games will finally be entertaining even for me," he laughs at the latter statement. "Think about it. Capitol kids in the wild, trying to survive without their luxuries... Now _that_ is justice."

I cannot believe what I am hearing. I knew Gale was very anti-Capitol. That had been obvious for years. But to have no mercy on those poor kids...

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks. The horror I feel must show on my face.

"You could say that, yes," I say.

"I'm sorry. When did you start to like these people?" he mocks.

"When I saw a girl lose her big sister in the Reaping," I say.

Gale looks at me in astonishment. "You feel sympathy for Snow's grandchildren?"

I nod sternly.

"She has the right to. She lost her sister, remember?" says Peeta. He squeezes my hand reassuringly, but I feel my walls crumble down. I wish Prim was here.

"Katniss," Gale says, his tone soft and comforting. "I'm so sorry, I forgot-"

"So you _did_ forget," I utter. "You did. Did you forget _how_ she died, too? My mother didn't come back to Twelve. Do you know why? She would have lost it. And now look at me. I don't have a family."

Tears start to flow over, and I have to look at Peeta in an effort to not let Gale see my face.

"Shh, it's okay," Peeta whispers and being careful not to smudge my makeup, he wipes the tears off my face with his index finger.

"You blame me."

I turn back to look at Gale, who has laid his eyes on the floor.

"You blame me for her death," he says again. "I planned that death trap."

I nod, even though I know he will not see it, looking down like he is.

"If I'd known Coin would use it like that... If I'd known Coin would hit Prim... I'm so sorry," he says, finally looking up. There is pain in his eyes.

"I'll accept your apology. But I can't forget," I say.

"Then I'll never stop making amends," says Gale. He takes my free hand in his, as Peeta is still holding my other one. Despite the sadness in me, I feel very, _very_ uneasy.

"Gale, if I were you, I'd consider who she can't live without," Peeta says, his voice almost threatening. I have not heard him sound like this anywhere else than in the arena.

"That won't change anything, I'd still try to make things better," Gale answers, taking a step towards Peeta.

"Okay, this has to stop," I say, afraid for the safety of them both. I position myself between them with Peeta behind me. "Gale, stop making a scene, and Peeta, you know I don't like to discuss that, so drop it."

"Sorry," Peeta says, and I return to his side. He takes my hand again.

"It's okay. It's just hard for me," I tell him.

"I'm sorry if you felt pressured," he says softly.

"We'll talk later," I whisper, since I do not want to discuss this with Gale there.

"And Gale, I don't want you to make amends. There's nothing you can do," I tell Gale.

I am not sure about what comes out of my mouth. I cannot focus on the flow of words. I cannot think about what I am saying. That makes me think about Prim and the image of her on fire because of Gale's war machine. Despite not thinking about it, I feel moisture gather in my eyes again.

"I think you'd better leave," Peeta says, tightening his hold on my hand. I squeeze it in approval. I do not want to lose my face again in front of the boy I used to love.

"It was a pleasure to see you again, Catnip. I hope you can forgive me. Enjoy the Games," Gale says and leaves us alone.

"Ugggh," I exclaim and hang my head.

"I bet that was hard," Peeta says, rubbing my arm soothingly.

It is a difficult feeling, longing. It can branch out, spread itself around you so that you feel like you are being pulled in multiple directions. Over the years, it has enveloped me, pulled me so many ways I have felt like I have been torn apart. My father, my mother, my district, Peeta, Gale, Cinna, Prim... And when longing branches out towards a person, it can never go back. You are tied to that person forever, and you will never stop thinking about them, longing for them. Ever.

I nod. "Yes, one of the hardest."

"Would you like to make an escape?" Peeta asks, smiling.

I look at him, see him smile warmly at me. His hand has not left mine.

"Yes, I'd like to go," I tell him.

Utilizing Peeta's skills of blending in, we get out of the ballroom, post haste. In the hallway we stop when the door closes after us. I look at a clock on the wall. We have two hours before we need to get remade.

"Our room?" Peeta asks, and I nod. I sense he wants to talk with me about something. There is this air around him that makes me feel it. We have developed such a good intuition with one another. I am happy about it, about knowing someone this well. Especially now that I do not have Gale anymore. He used to know me. And I used to know him.

We make our way along the hallway, underground. In one of the many corridors we need to walk along, a familiar Avox greets us with a timid smile.

"Hi, Darius," I say warmly, but he suddenly looks frightened, glancing around as if to see whether someone heard me.

"Why do they still do this to you?" I ask him, but he just shakes his head and walks away.

"I don't like this," Peeta says.

I am dazed. My beliefs about the new government, the new Capitol led by the rebels, have been fractured. I wish the Carnage would end fast. I miss home. Incapacitated by the sudden terror concerning the Avoxes I stare down the corridor.

"Katniss, are you okay?" Peeta asks, though his voice sounds like it is coming from far away.

I feel him grab my hand. "Hey, what's wrong?"

I need to crash after the emotionally loaded morning, so I ask Peeta to take me to the room, my voice feeble. Peeta is the only person I can let to see me like this. So when we reach our room and the door closes behind us, I wrap my arms around his neck and start to cry.

* * *

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**May the odds be ever in your favour.**

**AC**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hullo, dear ladies and gentlemen!**

**It's summer for Athena's cabin as well now, after all the crazy IB hoolabaloo! Jump and rejoice! And as a form of celebration, We, the author, give You, the reader, the fifth chapter! You're welcome!**

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"Hush, Katniss, it will be okay," Peeta repeats for what seems like the millionth time. The front of his tuxedo is completely soaked by my salty tears.

"I just can't stand it," I splutter. "All those things I'd really _really_ need to know and understand."

"Tell me, Katniss. You can tell me anything, okay?" Peeta rubs my back in soothing circles.

I know I can confide in him, so I let everything out.

"What will happen to Antigone's sister if she dies? Am I dishonouring Prim's memory by having second thoughts? Why did Gale leave me? Why can't I forgive him? Why can't I love you like you love me?"

"There there, Katniss. I'll tell you something if you'd like to hear," Peeta says and I nod against his shoulder.

"First, Antigone will fight, just like you did. She's different, and she has the capacity to come out of the arena as a victor. Secondly, you are not dishonouring Prim's memory. I don't think anything in this world would make you dishonour her. If I may say so, I think you honour her even more by feeling sympathy for Antigone and her sister. Thirdly, Gale knew he had hurt you, so I think he might have wanted to give you some recovering time. And you can't forgive him because you still haven't recovered from all the trauma and loss. And nobody blames you for that. And lastly, it is not whether you can, it's whether you are ready. There will be a day when you are ready to give me an answer, be it tomorrow or a year from now. Just know you can count on me, okay? I'll try my best not to let you down."

He pulls gently away from the embrace and leads me to my bed. I sit down on the edge and he sits next to me. I instantly shuffle closer and hug him again.

"Thank you," I tell him. "There is still one thing."

"What is that?"

"The Avoxes. Why did they keep them?" I ask.

Peeta gently strokes my back. "I don't know. We'll have to figure that one out. Maybe there are people who know more. Like Beetee, perhaps?"

I like the idea of investigating this matter. But not right now, because our makeup crew comes back to make us, me especially, presentable for tonight's tribute parade. Venia scolds me for ruining my face with tears, but Octavia tells her to stop beating me over it.

"After all, now we can do her face all over again!" she says happily and even Venia has to smile at that.

"Indeed, Octavia, that _is _quite wonderful," she says and they start to fix my face.

My crying has apparently done a lot of damage to my complexion, as Octavia and Venia 'tsk' at me a lot during the remake. After hours of fixing me up, they are finally satisfied.

"There, _perfect,_" they sigh as Octavia reattaches my mockingjay pin on my dress.

"Thank you," I say, trying to sound wholehearted.

"Are you ready?" Peeta asks.

He has walked to my remake station in his tuxedo. He looks like he's done this for years. Which one could say he has. We both have. He offers me his hand. I take it and he pulls me out of my chair. He twirls me a couple of times and Octavia and Venia squeal in delight. Flavius and Portia join them in their euphoric state.

"Remember how Caesar did this?" asks Peeta as we move closer to the door.

"Yes, he was quite a pro at these things," I say.

The parade had been a nerve-wrecking, yet fun experience in retrospect. Hosting it now would be completely different, as I knew I would feel the biggest amount of sympathy imaginable for one or more Tributes. Two men in black are waiting for us outside our room. They lead us away from the presidential mansion, still underground. As those men in black take us to the main square where the parade would be held, I gather all my courage. I think of Prim, dead because of these people who now inhabit the Capitol. I think of my mother who cannot return home because of what the Capitol has done to her family. And here I am, working for the cause. What has become of me? I try to keep Peeta's words in my head. I am not disgracing Prim, nor am I a bad person.

Plutarch waits for us at the main square. They have constructed a stadium-like area on the square that by the looks of it seats a few thousand people. Peeta and I are assigned a VIP seating in a commentators' box with microphones in it.

"You two will give an introduction to the parade and comment on the Tributes' costumes and your first impressions of them as they come in on their chariots. According to their Tribute numbers, they will be dressed like you were in your Games, in district costumes. This is to represent the new order," Plutarch explains while the two men in black fix us up with earphones.

"That's a brilliant idea," Peeta says, and I cannot be sure whether he is faking it or not.

"Thank you, it was one of my personal ideas," Plutarch smiles smugly. "So, are there any questions?"

I could name many. What is going on with those Avoxes? Why do we have to be here? But I do not ask them. I just shake my head.

"No, no questions," I say and Peeta nods.

"Wonderful," Plutarch exclaims and claps his hands together. "Now, remember to keep the love up, okay? We have had some people questioning the strength of your relationship. We don't want any trouble."

"You can count on us, Plutarch," says Peeta. He gently takes my hand and Plutarch beams at us.

"That's more like it. Now, I must be off. I'll give you instructions should you ever need any," he says and leaves, skipping as he goes. He is certainly a little less tense now that the rebels have won.

"So, here we are. Are you ready to act all giddy about the Tributes' costumes?" Peeta snickers.

"Today is probably one of the worst days of my life," I groan and we take our seats next to the microphone table.

A button lights up on the table that says 'on air'. We take it as a sign to start talking.

"Good evening, Panem! Happy Hunger Games!" I greet the crowd in a preppy voice.

"May the odds be _ever _in your favor!" Peeta ends the slogan.

"Welcome to the Capitol Carnage Tribute Parade! Such a wonderful event it is. We'll get to see our beloved Capitol Tributes in their garments designed by our very own District Eight!" I say and the crowd goes wild.

"Remember our first parade, Katniss?" Peeta asks in a commentator's voice, winking impishly at me. It makes me smile genuinely. I do remember our parade. I finally decided to trust Peeta then and took his hand in that chariot.

"I do, indeed. You looked charming in that flaming costume," I say, trying my hardest to sound in love.

"Well, sweetheart, I have to say that you stole the spotlight that night," Peeta swoons and bats his eyelashes.

The crowd 'aww's and I decide to play along. "Come here you," I say and give Peeta a gentle kiss on the lips. The large screens down on the square display a live video of us kissing at our host seats and the crowd cheers wildly.

As I detach my lips from Peeta's, Tributes number one start to emerge from the street to the main square.

"Here come Tributes number 1!" I exclaim, trying to sound enthusiastic.

I see instantly that this year's costumes have been made with a special amount of effort. The Tributes that we see now are dressed in brilliant costumes completely covered with gemstones glinting in the spotlight. On the table I see a list of the names and numbers of the Tributes. I notice that I already know the girl with the number one. She is Tacita Wilden, the very timid-looking girl.

"I see the Tributes still wear the District costumes!" Peeta states. "Tacita and Spurius, the sparkling start to the Capitol Carnage, straight from District One!"

I almost gag at Peeta's cliché of a commentary, but he wears such a sour expression himself that I am able to refrain from showing my disdain.

"Indeed, I do believe this couple is able to gather some support simply with their garments. That's how we did it, am I correct?" I laugh.

Peeta takes an appalled expression. "Are you suggesting that we were that terrible in character?" he asks.

"I surely was," I state and we laugh again. "Oh, there comes District Two!"

Indeed, the next pair of Tributes are dressed in old peacekeeper's suits. The crowd goes completely berserk and 'boo's are shouted and someone even threw a shoe at Valerius and Lucretia, the unfortunately hated Tributes number Two. I remember talking to Valerius at the remake and he seemed a nice fellow, around fifteen, and very gentlemanly.

"That choice of costume sure hits the spot. A very truthful portrayal of District Two," Peeta says, keeping his tone lighthearted, yet his eyes do not say the same, especially when the shoe is thrown.

Tributes number 3 wear laboratory jackets and headpieces made completely of copper wire. Peeta and I give a shoutout to Seneca Crane's daughter Cornelia, who rides her chariot with poise and dignity. She was born to these Games. Her father was a head gamemaker. She knew how to deal with the situation. The crowd is not happy with the daughter of a gamemaker. Another booing ensues and Plutarch speaks to us through our earpieces.

_'Try to remain calm and happy. They have the right to be angry,' _he says.

I do not know whether I should agree or not. After all, the Capitol dominated us for years on end. But I cannot help but think how coldly Gale stated how killing people is no different to killing animals. I kill animals to survive. What kind of a person kills people?

Peeta and I continue our commentary, putting on a happy face. For me at least, it is a complete facade. We comment on Drusus, the boy number 5 who rides with Minerva, both of whom are terribly strong-looking and fierce in their electric blue costumes embroidered with lightning bolts. Minerva's brother Marius rides with number nine, and even in his grain suit, he looks ready to kill. Plutarch's niece Aemilia, girl number 7, is paired up with Nonus, a twelve-year-old boy who has a typical Capitol attitude. Aemilia, on the other hand, seems quite rebellious, just like her uncle.

After eleven chariots, comes Antigone's chariot. I am excited to see what they have had in store for the Tributes symbolizing District 12. I do not see them at first, it is too dark. Peeta is the first to spot them, and he takes my hand. I understand why as they come into my view. They have dressed Antigone into a cheap copy of my wedding dress. Livius, who she is partnered up with, wears a tuxedo with white patches on the sleeves. The designers have made them symbolize me and Peeta.

I am happy that Peeta is holding my hand. Otherwise I would probably have snapped. They have degraded the number 12 Tributes. They have made them a target for hatred. The face of the opposition to the rebellion. Antigone Snow will be the most hated Tribute the Hunger Games have ever seen.

"Wow, look at Tributes number 12!" Peeta exclaims in fake awe. "Does that remind you of something, sweetheart?"

"My my, it does look like the wedding we never got to have," I say. My heart is aching. With every word I say now, the crowd's hatred grows stronger. And the chances for Antigone to survive grow weaker by the second.

"Mark my words, Katniss, you looked wonderful in that dress and that's enough for me, at least until I have a little chat with your mother," Peeta says and the crowd roars of excitement, anger, and pleasure, all at the same time.

"Thank you, Peeta. It does suit Antigone as well," I note.

"Perhaps she and Livius here will have a little star-crossed romance?" Peeta muses.

I wish he would stop egging the crowd on. The large screens show close-up live stream of Antigone's face. It is expressionless and breathtakingly beautiful. Her remake crew have done a wonderful job at making her look like a blushing bride. The sight makes me sick to my stomach. But I know that the show will be over soon for our part. I gather up all the strength there is still left in me after my years in the Games and make myself stick with the act.

"Just keep an eye on these two, Panem!" I laugh and Peeta lifts my hand to his lips to kiss it softly, just like he had done yesterday in our room after I'd agreed to keep up the lover act.

I cannot help but think about Haymitch and how he sent me presents in my first Games whenever I agreed to go along with his plan. The more I kissed Peeta, the more food we had. Now, the more I stuck to the plan, the more kisses I got. Sometimes I have to marvel at the power the Games have over a person; they have the capacity to ruin people, to make people strong, to completely change people. Mostly to end people's lives. The Capitol killed so many poor children, left so many families in unfathomable grief. Left me without Prim.

_'Prim, if you can see me now, just know I'm doing this only for you,' _I think to myself as Paylor walks to the podium to deliver a presidential speech. The light on our table turns off and the microphones give a faint 'pop' as they are shut off. The new anthem plays and the Tributes' chariots are in an orderly formation in front of the president's podium.

"Peeta, I'm afraid for Antigone," I say quietly. "You saw the crowd, they hate the Tributes number 12."

Peeta, who still has not let go of my hand looks at me with moisture in his eyes. "I'm afraid, too," he says.

Of the two of us, he was the least likely to cry. He displayed emotion, yes, but he never cried. In that way, he was the stronger one. I was usually the one to turn into a human hosepipe.

"Hey, what's wrong?" I ask, concerned about him tearing up.

Peeta buries his face in his hands, resting his elbows on the table. "I don't really want to discuss it with you, Katniss. I think it's for the best if you'll let me deal with this alone," he says.

I let it drop. During the years of us being more or less friends, I have learned that he can be as stubborn as me.

"I understand," I say, instead of confronting him, resting my hand on his shoulder.

I look out into the square below. The large screens are now fixed on Paylor who is still speaking to the Tributes. Flanking her on both sides are two men in black, the hems of their jackets pulled to the side to show pistols in the holsters on their waists. Paylor speaks about the final sacrifice the Capitol Tributes are going to make in these final Games and that justice will be achieved through their blood. As she says those words, a district inhabitant sitting next to chariot twelve in the first row stands up, hops over the rope that separates the bleachers from the aisle, and hits Livius, the boy number 12, in the face. He then proceeds to pull Livius off the chariot. A few other district people join him and tear Antigone off the chariot as well. Together, they attack the two Tributes. None of the other Tributes make a move to help. The screens turn black.

_'Say nothing,' _comes a command from Plutarch into my earpiece.

I cannot just stay quiet.

"Peeta! This is terrible! You must see this!" I shriek and he lifts his head up.

"Oh no," he mutters as the crowd starts to chant and cheer for the district people.

Four men in black rush into the conflict and I can spot five others who make their way into the audience to calm down the crowd. In the segregated section for Capitol citizens, I see Antigone's little sister close to the front with an elderly woman, who I suppose is their mother's best friend. I am glad I cannot see the exact expression on the little girl's face. The situation is too much for me to handle already.

"What can we do?" I ask, trying to look around the commentators' box wheter there is something I could utilize.

"To be honest, I don't think there is much we can do right now. If only there was a way to contact Plutarch..." Peeta says, but a voice in my earpiece interrupts his flow of words.

_'I can hear everything you two say,' _Plutarch says to our ears. _'The Chekans are trying to calm the situation down now.'_

Chekans? So that is what they call those men in black. I look down at the fight between Antigone and Livius, and the district people. The Chekans have been able to separate the Tributes from the conflict. Their clothes are torn and their faces bruised but otherwise they only seem shaken. Two paramedics rush out onto the square and take the children away. The district citizens are tazed by the Chekans and the other Tributes leave the square in their chariots. The door of our commentators' box opens and a bewildered Effie storms in, accompanied by Darius, my ex-Peacekeeper, now Avox friend.

"Oh, that was just _horrible. _Absolutely horrible behaviour from the people of District 11," Effie huffs. She takes us by our arms and marches us out of the box, back into the underground corridor.

District 11? Why would they attack the Tributes. They have always been so peaceful, except when Rue and Thresh were killed in the 74th Games, my first ones...

"Even Haymitch was distraught," Effie continues her babble as she and Darius lead us towards the presidential manor.

I glance at Darius, who keeps his expression in check and does not look back at me. The ever-prominent question lingers in my mind as if it has made a nest there: why does the new government keep the Avoxes? I would like to ask Effie about the matter, but I decide not to. After all, Peeta promised we would look into this together, perhaps ask Beetee.

A band of people are waiting for us in our quarters. Plutarch, Paylor, Haymitch, our prep team, and a handful of Chekans, are standing in out bombshelter when Peeta and I enter with our escorts.

"Are you two okay?" Beetee asks, concerned.

"Pretty shaken, but otherwise fine," says Peeta.

"Why would they even be less than fine?" asks Paylor. "The Capitol kids were hurt more than the district people."

One culprit in this new topsy-turvy order is definitely Paylor. I would not have guessed it back when our victory was fresh, when they made her president, that she would become this kind of a ruler. I take a sneaky glance at Peeta, who looks disdained.

"Weren't we supposed to end this kind of treatment of people?" he asks, continuing to repeat what he said at the meeting where we voted about the last Games: "That's what the revolution was all about."

"There are things you should not meddle with, Mellark," Paylor says and leaves the room.

An uncomfortable silence falls into the bombshelter. I look at Plutarch to silently ask for some answers, but he will not meet my gaze.

"Effie, I need to discuss something with you," he hastens to say and the two follow Paylor out into the corridor, closing the door behind them. The Chekans leave with them to take their places outside the door, to guard our sleep.

"We saw the fight. It was awful," Octavia says. "You will surely need your sleep now."

The prep team makes sure we have everything we need for the night and they leave for their own sleeping quarters. That leaves me, Peeta, and Haymitch into the bomb shelter.

"Haymitch, what do you know about the attack?" I ask and sit down onto a remake stool.

Haymitch takes a deep breath as if to arrange his head, which is probably fuzzy with liquor.

"Look, sweetheart, I was sure that the district people would voice their discontent towards the Tributes. And their emotions are very negative towards Snow. So his granddaughter is obviously a target," he says.

"I believe that these kinds of ourbursts will continue to happen. That is why I took the liberty of talking to the Head of Security. His name is Faunicus and he was quite helpful after having a little drink. He told me that they would increase safety precautions and keep you two under constant watch of the government. So be careful. I do not like this any more than you two do."

After saying this, Haymitch walks to our door and leaves, wobbling as he goes.

"Haymitch-," I try to stop him, but he is already gone.

"I can't for the life of me understand how he is able to think so straight while being so drunk," Peeta muses and takes a seat on his bed.

"Yes, his abilities while intoxicated amaze me time after time," I agree.

We chuckle merrily for a little while, until we realize the severity of the situation. We would be kept, from now on, under constant watch. Our mission to solve the Avox question was getting more difficult by the minute. We would need to get in contact with Beetee as soon as possible. The more time we would waste, the stricter the Chekans would get with safety precautions. Who knows, we might end up imprisoned in the bombshelter. It would not be the first time when I was being held back by bombshelters. I was in District Thirteen. And from 13, there was a way to get outside; if you cannot beat them, join them.

"Peeta," I announce. "I have a wild idea."

* * *

**Soo, after a long wait, what do You think? Was it worth it? Let me know!**

**May the odds be ever in your favour!**

**Your most humble**

**AC**


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